They talk about me in the chatty rooms?
by sailor gaav
Summary: Angel discovers slash - written about him. A short, silly little one-shot, rated R for language and slashy situations.


Author's note:  I'm guessing that this type of thing has probably been done before.  But I couldn't resist.  And yes, I'm making fun of slash, but you'll notice that I'm writing it at the same time.  It's a brief little story, all in good fun, so don't get too offended.  It takes place sometime early fifth season, let's say shortly after "Life of the Party," if you want to get specific.

"You ate him?!"

                Lorne was leaning precariously far back in his office chair, Italian loafers propped on the desk, cell phone clamped against one ear.  Another was ringing in his pocket, and he wondered whether he could try holding it on the other ear and talking out of both sides of his mouth.  Hell, if he could sing in two part harmony (and he could), then surely he could swing that.

                "No, Jennifer, honey, I understand, I'm sure he's a tasty piece of meat but the public expects to see you two together.  America's favorite couple and all that – uh-huh.  Uh-huh.  How much of him did you eat, exactly?  No, sweetie, this isn't a case where 'just the head' is acceptable.  You couldn't have snacked on a less important part?  Jen, I don't care what the custom is in your level of hell, the media is going to have a fit with this.  They're going to want to see you and Ben at the next – hang on a second."

                Angel had opened the door, and was knocking on the inside, looking solemn.  Lorne swept his feet off the desk and sat up straight.  

                "Something up, Angel Cakes?  Seems serious from that frowny face that you're giving me."  Although it wasn't like Angel didn't wear the same grim, hunk-of-stone expression on every occasion. 

                "Well, it's not exactly vital – I mean, not Apocalyptic vital.  But have you got a minute?  I've stumbled across something that I think our PR department should handle."  

                "Oh, God, don't tell me Britney's killed another manager," Lorne was on his feet.  

                "Britney…Spears?"  Angel was puzzled.  "She's on our client list?  Is she a demon?"

                "No, just evil," replied Lorne simply, then turned back to the cell phone.  The one in his pocket had stopped ringing – small favor.  "Okay, Jenny, listen, I'll call you back later.  Maybe our science department can re-grow his head, worst case, we may just have to clone him."  He snapped it shut, and found Angel staring at him.

                "You know, I'm really glad that I don't cover this department," the vampire said, leading the way out the door.  

                "Well, that's why you keep me around," Lorne said.  "I get to sort out these little squabbles.  You know, the actresses who can't stop killing, the model who accidentally sold her soul to two demons, the stunt-man with a taste for human flesh –"

                "Please tell me that those are made-up examples."  Angel pushed open the door to his office, leading the way over to his desk.  

                "Well…"

                "Okay, that's a no, then.  I don't want to know any more."  Angel swiveled his computer monitor Lorne's way, and tapped the screen.  "This is what I was talking about.  I mean, it's not a big deal, I suppose.  But it's a little disturbing."  

                Lorne winced.  He'd had a feeling that one of the crew would stumble across the site (sites, really) eventually, but he hadn't expected it to be the big man himself.  Of all the people to spend time on the Internet, Angel seemed the least likely.  But somehow, he'd found his way into the world of fan-fiction, and then he'd wandered into 'slash', and then he'd come across them.

                _'I walk in your light," by Slashygurl.  Angel and Wesley must deal with the morning after, and whether their relationship can survive the next few days.  Please read and review!_

_                'Broken,' by Lady Darkchyldel.  A traumatized Gunn turns to Wesley for comfort after a mission goes wrong.  Warning: dark, angst, rape and adult situations._

_                'Handcuffs and Chocolate Sauce,' by Amberangel.  Doyle's back from the dead, and he and Angel have some 'catching up' to do.  Shameless porn without plot._

_                'Lost without you,' by Alalathea.  Sequel to 'Surprise,' and 'Is it real?'  When Wesley is hurt on a mission, Angel realizes who he really loves.  Not planning to continuing if I don't get at least 15 reviews on this one._

_                'Playing Games,' by dFEA11.  Spike and Angel hate each other.  Or do they?  Slash!  Read and review, no flames, please! _

 "Yeah, I know they're pretty bad, but they're mostly 14 year-olds," Lorne said, keeping it light.  "I'm sure they'll improve with time."

                "So, I take it that you've seen this before," Angel began, and stopped as he saw Lorne's expression.  "Your department better not be responsible for –"

                "Angel, please.  If I wanted to write erotic stories about us, I'd show a heck of a lot more literary flair.  And I don't," he added, as Angel shot him a look.  "Wolfram and Hart have nothing to do with this.  This is all underground, amateur stuff.  But we do know that it about its existence.  We keep track of all the buzz, whether it's street talk, tabloids, or Internet.  Even when it's fiction."

                "Where you planning on telling me anytime soon?"

                "Didn't think it was that important.  You said yourself that it's not Apocalyptic vital –'

                "But it is disturbing-" Angel broke in.

                "And that's why I figured that you'd be better off not knowing," Lorne deftly interrupted the interruption.  No one got a word in edge-wise like the Host.  "I mean, it's a bunch of kids and house-wives having some harmless fun and spreading their poetic wings."

                "Right.  Harmless.  Easy for you to say," Angel scrolled down screen, and Lorne could see his eyes counting the "Angel/Blank" summaries.  "You aren't rolling around in hot oil with Spike.  Or fathering Xander's baby."

                "I'd scroll down a little before you jump to conclusions, Angel Harp.  I'm not in those exact situations, but I'm definitely there.  And for some reason, they keep wanting to give me extra genetelia.  Like one isn't enough."

                "Ah, I see," Angel stopped the scroll and pointed at the screen.  "There's one where you have a passionate night with Gunn."  He paused, Lorne's last comments having sunk in.  "Extra….what?"

                "Demon from another dimension and all that.  They want to make all my sex scenes freaky and exotic."

                "You know…that's always been in the realm of things that I don't want to know.  But…you do only have….one, right?" 

                "Just one."

                "Ah.  Yeah.  I figured.  In the…normal place?"  It was like watching one of those awful reality TV shows.  Angel wanted to stop, but couldn't.

                "I think we'd better not venture any further down that path of investigation," Lorne said, looking smarmy.  "Getting back to the topic at hand, I think we're dancing around a point, here.  You seem to want me to do something about this.  I say, let 'em have their fun.  It isn't that hard ignore it.  Just don't go to their sites."

                "Hey, I stumbled across this thing when I was looking for hockey scores." 

                "Hockey scores?  This site is a little far from hockey."  Lorne gave Angel a disbelieving look.

                "Well…I mean, I just start clicking on links, and one site led to another, and…."  Angel trailed off, and sighed.  "Okay, I was looking for Bonanza fan-fiction.  Get a little nostalgic sometimes."

                "Oh, that is so cute," Lorne grinned.  "I suppose they were on this site, too, huh?  Screwing each other's brains out?"

                "Not exactly what I was looking for.  Lorne, I don't want to get harsh or defensive here, but…I want this stuff gone."  Angel began clicking the mouse, bringing up other windows.  "Oh, and this stuff…this stuff…this stuff, here…"

                "That's going to be a little harder than you might think, Angel-kins.  We can send "cease and desist" notices to the site owners.  Since they're writing about real people, then it's technically libel, and we can technically sue.  But there's a lot of it out there, and it'll keep popping up no matter what we do."

                "It can't be good for the Wolfram and Hart image, though," Angel said, grimacing as he scrolled down through a story involving him raping and murdering every male member of the AI team, then committing suicide by sun-light.  

                "It doesn't really affect our image at all.  People who write this know that it's fiction.  What is going to look bad for our image is us threatening legal action against a lot of amateur writers, most of whom aren't even out of high school.  We're going to look like bullies if we make an issue out of this."

                "How do they even know this much about us?"

                "They don't.  I'd think that would be obvious from the stories."

                "Well…I'll leave it to you to put things delicately.  Start out playing nice, and then see where we have to go from there."  Angel started closing the browser windows, until only the NHL homepage was left up.

                "All right, all right, I'll put the word out," Lorne sighed.  "Any thing else that you want me to handle today, Pop Tart?"

                "Pop Tart?"  Angel raised an eyebrow. 

                "Sweet Tart?"  Lorne tried.  "Cheese Danish?  Swiss Miss?"

                "You know, I should start coming up with cutesy little knick-names for you and see how you like it, Lornie….um…..Lornie…..Lorne…Lorne."  Angel finished weakly. 

                "Good try.  Keep practicing."  Lorne grinned, and sauntered out of the office.

                "Loony Lorne!" Angel called after him.

                "Getting better!" he said back over his shoulder, before disappearing into his own office.  Sliding into his chair, Lorne pulled up Word and flexed his green fingers.

                "Now…how to put this delicately?"

                Julie Hayes sat in front of her computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, mouth hanging open in shock.  It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair.

                _Angel's representative's at Wolfram and Hart have requested that all erotic fanfiction pertaining to Angel or his associates be removed from the Internet.  Since they have asked me politely, and sent me a really nice cheese tray, I have decided to comply with their request.  So, this section of the site is closing down.  Anyone who still wants to read my stories can e-mail me at sinistera@hotmail.com.  The Dark Shadows and Kindred: The Embraced sections will remain open._

                Sinistera was her favorite author.  Her _favorite.  True, she wasn't losing access the stories.  She'd saved them all on the hard-drive, even the Lorne/Angel series (a pairing she didn't quite approve of – it was obvious to anyone that Angel belonged with Wesley, and Lorne was better off with Gunn,) and the hot little Angel/Cordy snippets (eww…hetero-fic!).  Sinistera was a fantastic writer, a published poet, with a couple of books put out by ….., and a talent that the Internet was going to be a sad, desolate place without.  And now she was never going to see the end of her beautiful 72-chapter epic, in which Angel died and went to Hell, and Wesley killed himself just so that he could go on a quest through Hell to save Angel's soul, and then they were both resurrected as humans 20 years in the future, and Wesley became pregnant with Angel's child, which was kidnapped by a cybernetic clone of Darla, and then Angel lost his memory and gets involved with Cordelia and Doyle's ¼ demonic son and –_

                Julia stopped and smiled, just remembering her favorite passages.  It was the best story ever written.  And the little sub-plots that she threw in, like Gunn and Spike becoming demon-fighting lovers, and Lorne magically becoming human and winding up with Fred – unexpected, but so fitting to the characters.  And now, she'd never get to read Chapter 73.  Well, she could if she e-mailed Sinistera.  But that was just so much work.

                "It's not fair!" she said aloud.  Her other two favorite sites, "The Torture Chamber," (angst and darkfic) and "Velvet Black Roses," (Spike and Angel, with some Wesley thrown in) were down as well, both complying with whatever bullshit order that Wolfram and Hart had put out.

                "Stupid, conservative nazi jerks!" she grumbled, scrolling through the Angel message boards.  There'd been some backlash against the orders, a lot of people were now calling Angel egotistical, snobby, and homophobic.  Most intended to keep their sites up, with the "They can't sue all of us!" mentality.  The few that had taken their sites down were lambasting the others for being selfish.  If Angel didn't want dirty stories written about him, then he had a right to put a stop to them.  Besides, the cheese trays from Wolfram and Hart were really nice. 

                Well, Julia wasn't going to stop with her slash writing.  It was the only thing that rescued her from the dark, black pit that her life had become since her parents divorced, and her mother re-married.  Now she had a step-sister that she actually had to be nice to, even though she was always hogging the shower.  And school was a total drag, and Brent from the foot-ball team was taking someone else to the prom, and she was all out of clean sweaters.  And lately she'd been having funny nightmares, and she kept breaking things, and that was just the icing on the big, stinky vomit cake.

                She flopped down onto the bed, feeling tears sting the corner of her eyes.  Life was so unfair.  And the only thing that made her feel better was imagining her two heroes – Angel and Wesley, demon-hunters extraordinaire, naked and writhing against each other.  She jumped up off the bed abruptly – plot bunny that just had to be written!  Angel and Wesley, snowed in at a remote mountain cabin, with only one way to keep warm.

                She giggled as she began typing.  This was the best idea she'd had in a long time, and she was pretty sure no one had thought of it before.  The Angellove mailing list would get a kick out of it.  Her fingers flew over the keys, punching down a little harder than necessary.              

                _The snow came fluttering down from the shiny grey sky like goose-down, and settled into thick, fluffy whipped-cream drifts.  Amazing how something so beautiful could be so deadly, Angel thought, he tapped at the doily-frosted glass windows of the little mountain shack in which they had taken refuge.  Ironic that he would be in this situation right after Wesley had found a spell that would restore his humanity.  Now both he and the young ex-Watcher-turned-rogue-demon hunter would freeze to death._

_                Wesley was already shivering, huddled in his thin sweater.  Angel could see the man's trim, muscular out-line through the fabric, could not stop himself from licking his lips at the sight of goose-bumps on the back of his neck.  The skin there looked so soft, like a baby's cheek, and the hair above it was fine kitten fur.  Hesitantly, wondering if he dared, Angel reached out and touched the ex-Watcher's cheek, feeling electricity at the contact, trying not to let it become a caress._

_                "You're so cold," he murmered.  Wesley looked up at him with his dark eyes shining like wet plums.  _

_                "Angel," he said gruffly, clearly struggling with emotion that was begging to be expressed._

_                "It's okay, Wesley," Angel breathed, seeing his breath condense in the air like feathers, as though making his words more solid, more real.  "I won't let anything happen to yyyyyyyyyyyyy_

                Damn it!  Julia slammed her fist down on the desk, not noticing the way the wood splintered under her fingers.  The "Y" was stuck again.  Everything around her kept breaking, and now her lap-top was messed up.  The story's narrative scrolled on in her head, but she had no way to put it down.

                "It's not fair!"  She threw herself on her bed and curled up.  Could things possibly get any worse?

                Soon, strains of Lincoln Park were filtering through the window.  Julia had hauled out a spiral note-book and was frantically scribbling down the rest of the story.  And from outside her window, something in the shadows watched her.  It smiled.  She had to leave the house eventually.

                Angel glared at his monitor.  Lorne, standing over him, wrung his hands nervously.  He'd known that there would be no way to get rid of all the sites immediately.  But somehow, Angel had stumbled across the darkfic.  Rape, angst, torture and death, and all centered around him.

                "How did you even find it?"  Lorne asked.  "Don't try to tell me that it was hockey scores this time."

                "Okay, this time I sought it out," Angel admitted.  "Curiosity got the better of me, and all that.  I wasn't expecting this."  For Lorne's reference, he'd gone ahead and italicized choice passages.

                _The razor slid down Xander's heaving chest, leaving a delicate spider-web of thin red lines.  Like a work of art, Angel thought, and the young boy's fragile-yet-muscular form was his canvas.  There would be no happy trees on this painting, just dark blood rosese.  The boy's eyes opened wide, and Angel could see himself mirrored in them – but it was not Angel that he saw, it was Angelus.  He stared into the mirror, and the Beast stared back._

_                Angel thrust harder, and Xander screamed in ecstacy, agony, all blended together in a dark symphony of pleasure-pain.  He wanted to go on like this forever, an eternal night of his own heaven-hell._

_                "Oh, Angel," he gasped, as he felt the blood begin to run thick ribbons down his thighs,"Make me yours forever, I'm your slave forever!"_

"Yeah, that's a special little section – most people don't write you like that."__

                "And why is it even still on-online?" 

                "It's still on-line because you told me to be nice first, and work from there.  Well, nice has only worked for about a fourth of the writers, if that," Lorne said, in the most soothing voice he could muster.

                "So, when do we move on to the not-nice part?"  Angel asked.  Lorne sagged.

                "Angel…Babe….I really don't want to sue all of these people."

                "We don't have to sue, right?  We just have to threaten."

"And it's going to make us look awfully bad."

                "And you think stories were I rape Xander and leave him wearing a pair of girl's panties doesn't make me look bad?"  Angel frowned at the screen.  

                "Wow, that's a little extreme.  I figured that you would rape Wesley if you were going to rape anyone," Lorne tried, and wilted under the glare that Angel threw him.  "Okay, okay, I get that you're not happy about this.  Perfectly understandable.  But I can guarantee that we'll never stop it all, even if we start throwing the word 'lawsuit' around."

                "Well, there must be something we can-" Angel started, and cut himself off, sighing and turning away.  "Look, I know that I shouldn't be bothered by this.  But when I read stories about me having sex with people I consider good friends, it just feels…wrong.  Disturbing, that's the word.  And then, when I read about me killing Cordelia, or torturing Gunn, or driving you to suicide-"

                "There's a story where I commit suicide?"  Lorne was taken aback, in spite of himself.  He was usually the "up" one in the relationship, trying to pull his partner out of some cheesily manufactured spiral of angst and despair.  But then, he was usually slashed with Angel.

                "There, see how it feels?  It just feels wrong, doesn't it?  You know that you wouldn't act like that, so it's hard to read about it."

                "Simple solution, Fruit Cup.  Don't read it-" Angel opened his mouth, but Lorne went on before he could get a word in.  "Maybe you need a little time out of the office, huh?  Away from the computer.  I'm sure that there are plenty of perfectly nice demons out there that would be willing to menace the innocent so that you can do your hero bit."  

                "Seems like things have been quiet lately," Angel sighed, leaning back in his chair and beginning to rifle through reports.  "There were some Tritoch demons running around down-town, but it turned out that they weren't killing anyone, they were just drunk."

                "Yeah, the Tritochs are kind of the frat boys of the demon world.  Mostly harmless.  Lot's of fun at parties though, if they don't throw up all over your buffet table," Lorne said, idly inspecting his nails, glad to have changed the subject.  "But still, maybe if you went out for some fresh air, did a once-around the city tonight.  You know.  Hit something."

                "Yeah.  I kinda do need to hit something."  Angel closed out the story on the monitor, and headed for his office door.  He brushed right past Wesley and Gunn in the doorway.

                "Angel, we should talk about –"  Wesley called after him.

                "Later," Angel said without turning around.  "I'm going to go hit things."  

                "Ah…"  Wesley was left staring at Angel's retreating back.  

                "Is he in one of his…moods?"  Gunn asked, crossing the office to sit down on the fine leather sofa.

                "More of a snit, really.  Was it important?  You can leave him a post-it note," Lorne offered.

                "Does he actually read those things?"

                "Well, I read about half of mine, so comparatively speaking…he probably never touches his.  What's this all about?"

                "It's not anything solid.  Just information that we thought he ought to be aware of," Wesley said, flopping down on the couch next to Gunn.

                "The rumor is that there are a couple of new Slayers in town," Gunn explained.  "And by new, I don't mean that they just got here, but that they were all recently activated, back during that thing in Sunnydale."  Lorne nodded.  Spike had told the story of the events in Sunnydale, including the activation of every potential Slayer.  It was only logical that they start bumping into them eventually. 

                "We don't know much about who they are, or whether they even know what they are.  All we know is rumors that some of Gunn's demonic clients have passed on to him.  But every demon in town is probably going to be on their respective cases.  So it would probably be good to track them down, maybe get them into protective custody," Wesley was saying.

                "Yeah, or at least give them a little training," Gunn put in.

                "Slaying 101?"  Lorne suggested.  

                "Yes, something to that effect.  They don't really have to slay, since there's no single Chosen One anymore, but at least some self-defense.  And the sooner we can get ahold of them, the better.  Lorne, you haven't heard anything, have you?"  Lorne shook his head.

                "Haven't really had my ear to the street lately.  I've been trying to take care of something for Angel – the same thing that's got him all riled up, in fact."

                "I was wondering about that," said Gunn.

                "Not really a big deal," Lorne waved a flippant hand.  "Apparently some people on the Internet are writing stories about all of us having sex, that's all."

                An hour later, Gunn still couldn't stop shuddering.  Wandering down a dark alley with Wesley in tow, looking for any sign of super-strong girls, or just the usual night nasties, and all he could think about was a detailed description of the two of them getting married, written by someone who called herself "Sunshine and Cherry Blossoms."  It was the cute fluffy stuff that really bothered him.  The hard-core sex was awfully disturbing, but what really left him gagging were the stories were he took Wesley out for a romantic night on the town, bought him flowers, took care of him while he was sick.  He shuddered again, just remembering.

                "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"  Wesley asked.  "It was all very strange, wasn't it?"

                "I'm not thinking about it at all," Gunn walked more quickly into the shadows of the alley, praying for something with fangs and scales to come leaping out at him.  "I'm thinking about the job at hand.  Why the hell would I care if people that I've never met are writing stories about me?"

                "Well, I care.  I don't want anyone I know to read that stuff," Wesley swept his flash-light into the dark corners at the alley's dead-end, revealing toppled trash cans, and a few surprised cats.   

                "Damn," Gunn muttered.  No sign of demonic activity anywhere.  "I really wanted to hit something.  Isn't there some kind of spell you can use, if we're looking for these Slayer girls?"

                "There is.  But it's a little on the flashy side, balls of light flying through the air and all that.  I was hoping to be more subtle when we approach them.  If they don't want to slay, then the worst thing we can do is draw a lot of attention to what they are."

                "Well, the wandering the streets at random method doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere."  Gunn kicked at a trash can, and the cats scattered, hissing.  "Feels like we've been wandering in circles for hours."

                "Well, technically –" Wesley unfolded a map and aimed the flash-light at it, "We've done two complete circuits of the down-town area.  So yes, we have been walking in very broad circles."

                "That's it," Gunn declared.  "I don't think I'm ever going to get a chance to get my violence on tonight.  Why don't we just throw in the towel?"

                "Yes, that might be best."

                There was a pause between the two of them, long enough for the alley cats to wander back, and mill around their feet.

                "Want to go get a drink?" Wesley asked at last.

                "Sure."

                The bar interior was smoky, crowded, and apparently all human.  Neither Gunn nor Wesley felt like continuing  their work that night, and they both knew that if they had gone to a demon bar, they would have started questioning patrons, poking at leads about the new Slayers.  Gunn had never thought that demon-hunters could be workaholics, but apparently, they were the worst kind.

                Instead, he and Wesley had chosen a small table against the wall, and were knocking back shots, enjoying the feeling of being lost in the crowd.  In the middle of the room, people were jerking and swaying together, and the two had to shout to make themselves heard over the music.

                "Don't let me stop you," Wesley was saying, "If you want to, you know, go have some fun.  You don't have to sit with me all night."

                "Nah."  Gunn tossed back another tequila, feeling the liquid burn it's way down his throat.  "I'm a terrible dancer, and I'm not really in the mood for a hook-up.  Life's too complicated for that right now.  And I think I'm hitting the point where I'm too drunk to do much.  But you can go have some fun."

                "No, no.  Everything you said, only repeated.  You know, by me.  No sex for Wesley tonight.  There's too much going on at Wolfram and Hart to be distracted by some kind of relationship."  Wesley could feel the liquor starting to tie up his tongue, turning it into foam rubber inside his mouth.  He tossed back another shot to help things along.  Meanwhile, the blaring music was proclaiming that it was getting hot in here, and suggesting that everyone take off all their clothes.

                "Yeah, and Fred seems interested in that Knox guy, anyway."  Wesley stared across the table at Gunn, who was giving him a sympathetic look.

                "I don't really…I mean, I haven't really got feelings for –"

                "Oh, yes you do," Gunn interrupted.  "I can tell just by the way you look at her.  That, and the fact that you're always ranting about how much you hate Knox."

                "It's not that, I just don't trust him," Wesley protested, then trailed off.  Gunn did not looked particularly convinced.  "All right, all right, I still like her.  And I'm probably never going to get her.  We've settled into that comfortable little 'good friends' category.  It's like one of those, what do you call them…dungeons with no doors or windows, just a grate on the ceiling.  Once you get tossed in there, you never get out."

                "Don't worry, man, I'm there too."

                "Do you miss it?"

                "A little," Gunn admitted.  "But it's better for both of us this way.  We're happier as friends.  Besides, I can't understand the way that woman's mind works anymore."  They had shown Fred the "slash," including stories involving her getting raped and murdered, and she had just laughed.  Said that she would add the sites to her "favorites" list. 

                "Yeah, funny how she didn't seem to care at all.  About the stories, I mean."

                "Lorne obviously didn't care, either.  But then, Lorne is……Lorne," Gunn said.

                "You know," Wesley began, "I've always sort of wondered…"

                "Oh, I'll bet he's bi if he's anything," Gunn responded.

                "Really?"

                "Well, that's assuming that they even have divisions of sexuality on Pylea.  He talks about women, sure, but I know he's been wanting a piece of Angel-ass every since he joined up with us.  Don't you notice?  He flirts with him all the time.  I think he knows he's not going to get anywhere, though, so he's just having fun with it."

                "He is a little….flashy.  Exuberant, perhaps.  Cheerful," Wesley pondered.

                "Fruity?" Gunn suggested.

                "Wouldn't go that far."

                "I would."

                They sat in silence for a moment.  

                "So, do you ever think about it?" Wesley ventured.

                "Think about what?"

                "The other side, so to speak.  Going gay.  I don't mean all the way, I'm just talking a one night stand sort of thing.  It would be an interesting experience."

                "I never think about it," Gunn asserted.  "It's not even on my radar."

                "The idea doesn't exactly thrill me, either," Wesley said, "But sometimes I wonder if it isn't the best thing for me.  Not like Fred is ever going to give me the time of day.  And now she's not giving you the time of day, either."

                There was another pause.

                "I think we need more drinks," Gunn declared.

                Julia Hayes slammed her front door, and began stomping down the paved front walk.  Her stupid, horrible bitch of a step-mother had decided that she needed to go out, maybe visit a few of her friends.  Julia spent a long time trying to explain that her _friends_ were right there on the computer.  Her friends were Sinistera and DarkStar, and Eliandrianeania.  But apparently, nothing had gotten through wicked-step-mom's thick skull.  And besides, her sister (not her real sister, just some stupid girl that she had to call her sister, just because their parents got hitched) had to the use the computer.  It wasn't fair.  Her "sister" got everything, all the time.  Pretty soon they'd have her scrubbing the kitchen floor and wearing rags, just like Cinderella.  What was a beautiful, gifted, fourteen year-old author to do?  At least she had her spiral notebook in hand, and her favorite pencil jammed into her jeans pocket.  That way, she could - 

                Then a hand reached out from behind her, and clamped across her mouth.  Another hand clasped her by the throat and began to squeeze.  

                "I know what you are, babe," whispered a harsh, hissing voice.  "I can smell it in your blood.  You're going to taste good."

Life was suddenly a lot less fair.

                They had kept talking about the stories.  Discussion of the stories led into discussion of the details – like the way different writers described them.  And that led into discussion of the way different writers described certain parts of them.  Things went downhill from there.  They had retreated to the men's room, to settle a certain argument.

                "Okay, that's it.  Whip it out big man, let's find out what you've got," Gunn ordered.

                "I…you first," Wesley stammered.

                "Oh, hell no.  You first."

                "Wait, wait…"  Wesley swayed and steadied himself against the door-frame.  "We'll…we'll do it together, okay?  On three."

                "Okay."  Gunn poised his hands over his zipper, as though waiting for a starter's pistol.

                "One!"  Wesley swept one index finger into the air.  

                "Two!"  He popped up his middle finger with a flourish.

                "Three!"  He added the ring finger, and was so busy enjoying his physical count-down that he forgot to reach for his pants.  Gunn noticed with his zipper halfway down.

                "Hey, hey, we're doing this together, right?"

                "Oh, right!"  Wesley fumbled with the front of his pants, and in a moment, the two of them were "wide open," so to speak.

                "Soooo…whip it out," Gunn said, as they both paused.

                "Um….I…what about you….first?"  

Gunn rolled his eyes.  "Okay, fine.  On three…."

                One dramatic countdown later, they were both feeling very vulnerable, and very surprised.

                "I'll be damned…."  Gunn trailed off.

                "A tie."  Wesley was awed.

                "No, no."  Gunn shook his head.  "I'll bet I've got at least a few millimeters on you.  We're getting a ruler."

                Angel was starting to feel a little better, enjoying the wind whipping his coat out behind him.  He didn't like to pose and posture, but every now and then, it was fun to look cool.  And to know that he looked cool.

                Besides, he'd just run into a whole hive of Golgarion demons, and beating the shit out of them had made him feel a lot better.  Something about slamming his fist against things made him feel a lot more like a man – and a lot less like the neutered milksop that he turned into in those damn stories (at least, in the stories that didn't resurrect Angelus and have him commit mass murder.)  So he strolled down the dark alleyways, breathing in the night air.

                And he stopped.  There was a sharp smell in air – salty and metallic.  Blood.  Angel broke into a run, stopping occasionally to sniff at the air like a bloodhound.  There was a lot of it, too, so that the air seemed almost thick with it.  Angel dashed down the alleys, sweeping his gaze from side to side, looking for any sign of a struggle – or a body.  He stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse – the kind that had had all it's windows broken long ago, and was decorated with graffiti.  The lack of glass in the empty frames was very useful.  There was nothing to block the screams that were ringing out, shrill enough to make him wince.  

                He kicked the door open, pulling out a stake, and five surprised vampires look up at him, one in the midst of trying to muzzle the screaming girl with a cloth gag.  She was thrashing from side to side, trying to pull her hands out of the cuffs that bound her to piping in the wall.  She was small and petite, with short curly black hair, and a turned up nose that made her look pixieish.  Despite her small stature, the pipes creaked dangerously each time she yanked at them.  Blood trickled down from a wound in her neck.  

                "Hey man, back off.  This is our Slayer.  We found her, and we're drinking her," said one of the vampires, brushing ragged blond hair out of his face.  They all seemed to be about high school age.

                "Slayer?"  Of course, Angel had heard from Spike about the activation.  It was only natural that he run into one eventually, he supposed.  

                "I don't know what they're talking about!  Please, help me!" The hand-cuffed girl begged.  Then her eyes widen in recognition.  "Ohmigod, you're Angel!"

                "Angel?!"  The blond vampire looked worried now, and the rest of his gang exchanged nervous glances.  

                "Angel, you've got to save me!  These creeps are like, drinking my blood, and calling me Slayer, and I know I'm totally not, and –"

                "It's okay," Angel said, pulling out a stake, partly to shut her up.  "I'll take care of this."  He made a mental note to check with Lorne as to exactly how much publicity he was getting these days.  Non-demons usually never recognized him.

                "Dude…I don't know about this," said one of the vampire gang, this one shorter, with shaggy brown hair.  "Angel's got kind of a rep…"

                "Oh, c'mon man, don't pussy out!" scoffed the blond one.  "We just drank some Slayer blood, man!  We've got the power hook-up!"  

                "Ohmigod, what the hell are you talking about?" demanded the girl.  "Angel is going to so kick your ass!"

                "No way, bitch.  When vampires drink Slayer blood, they're like, totally invincible."  And to prove his point, the blond vampire charged at Angel.  Angel grabbed him by the front of his Nirvana t-shirt, and jammed the stake into him.

                "No, see, that's actually a misconception," he corrected.

                "Aww….shit."  The blond vampire dissolved into dust.

                "Dude…did you see….he just, like, dusted….dude!"  The brown haired vampire was shaken up. 

                "Yeah, that's what you get for messing with Angel!" the girl taunted.  "Now he's going to like, totally save me, and it'll be so totally romantic."

                "Dude, we gotta get the fuck out of here," the short vampire was trembling.  But the three remaining gang members exchanged glances.

                "No way, man," said a third, this one black and dread-locked.  "We can all take him together."

                "No, that's also a misconception," Angel said, smiling.  

                The three gang members rushed him at once, while the brown haired one scurried off into the shadows.  Angel threw all three around the warehouse for a few minutes, just enjoying the fight, and then got down to the serious business of staking.  

                "Eeee!" The handcuffed girl squealed as the last vampire exploded into nothing.  "That was so cool!"  And with one last yank, she tore the pipes out of the wall, pulled the hand-cuffs off them, and ran over to throw herself into his arms.  "My hero!  You were so brave!  I'd have been dead for sure if not for you!"  

                "Yeah," Angel tried to loosen her arms around his neck.  It was uncomfortable, even if he didn't need to breathe.  "Or you could have just used your super-strength to fight them off."

                "Super-strength?"  The girl looked up at him, brown eyes wide and doe-like.  "I don't have any super-strength."

                "Right.  Take a look behind you."  The girl looked back at the wall, then down at the handcuffs on her wrists as though she'd never seen them before.  

                "But, like, those pipes were probably really old, right?"

                "Listen, um…what was your name?"

                "Julia.  Julia Hayes.  But you can call me Jules.  Can I call you Angel-kins?"

                "Listen, Julia," Angel decided not to go with the knick-name, since she'd probably use it as permission to use her own knick-names for him.  And so far, only a green, horned demon who was very ambiguous with his affections had ever gotten away with calling him, "Angel-kins."  When he thought about it, he wasn't really certain why he let Lorne call him the things that he did.  Probably because no amounting of chastising would ever shut him up.  Besides, Lorne had never pulled him into a full-body hug, which the girl was doing right then.  Her grip was definitely Slayer strength – vice-like, and nigh unbreakable.  

                "Julia," he went on.  "I know that this may be difficult for you to accept.  But no ordinary human could have pulled those pipes out of the wall like that.  I think that you must be a new Slayer.  Do you know what that means?"

                "Well, duh," she finally pulled away, and gave him a gentle punch on the arm (or what she clearly meant to be a gentle punch – it actually kind of hurt.)  "When one dies, another is chosen and all that?  Except lately, everybody got, like, activated, right?  So there are a bunch of Slayers running around, which I think is kind of lame, because it was much cooler when it was just the one chosen one.  Kind of like when they went from Highlander the movie to the TV series.  All of a sudden, everyone is an Immortal, right?"

                "I never actually watched that show.  But listen, Julia, this is real.  You're one of the activated Slayers.  You were targeted tonight because of that."  Angel took her by the arm, and began to lead her towards the patch of moon-light that marked the open door of the factory.  "This isn't something that you can ignore."

                "But…like…no way.  I'm not…I mean, it couldn't possibly be…Look out!"  Angel felt the presence behind him even as Julia shouted.  But even as he whirled around, he felt himself shoved to one side.  The cowardly brown-haired vampire had come back with an ax.  Even as Angel pulled out his stake, he saw Julia knocking the ax out of the vampire's hand, and stabbing him in the chest with a pencil.

                "Excuse me!" she snapped.  "We were having a moment!"  The vampire dusted, and Julia stared down at the pencil, as though just realizing what she had done. 

                "There, you see?" Angel pointed at the dust on the floor.  "Can't get away from it.  It's instinct for you." 

                "Okay," Julia said, brushing the dead vampire off her clothing.  "Maybe we should talk about this."   

There was a ruler in Wesley's office.  And, fortunately for both men, there was also porn, stored on Wesley's hard-drive in a folder marked "Gregorian chants." 

                "I figured that no one would ever venture into that file," Wesley explained.  

                "I think Angel actually likes Gregorian chants," Gunn remarked.

                "Well…damn good thing he's never been on my computer," Wesley responded, scrolling down pictures.  "What do you like?  Blondes, red-heads?  Black, white, Asian?  I've got kind of a grab-bag, here."

                "So I've noticed."

                The measurements had been frustrating.  They had tried three times, following different specifications ("Okay, maybe if you lay it out on the desk, then measure…"), and each time, they were both exactly the same.  Down to the last mili-meter.  So it had been Wesley who suggested that they try the measurements while they were erect.  That was what really counted, after all.  In the long run.

                "So, are we going to do this one at time, or…."

                "I don't know if I can actually do this with you sitting next to me," Gunn said doubtfully.  "But then again, we've doing it together up until now."

                "All right, all right.  Both together then."  Wesley took a swig out of the wine bottle that they'd nicked from Gunn's office.  He kept it around for entertaining clients, but most of them were blood-drinkers anyway, and hey – might as well get their jollies while the company paid for it.  He passed the bottle on to Gunn, who took a drink as well.

                "All righ'," he breathed, starting to slur his words.  "Let's do this thing."

                And, some ten minutes later:

                "No!  This can't be happening!  We can't be the exact same size!"  Gunn protested, passing the ruler back to Wesley.

                "Oh, hell with it.  I'm starting to think that it's kind of cute.  You know, like brothers, or something."

                "Maybe if we line them up exactly side by side," Gunn said, although he wasn't sure if his coordination was up for it.  He was starting to see double.  Surely a swig of wine would fix that.  He took it.

                "Yes, yes," Wesley concurred, swaying, "Side by side."  They slid closer together.  

                "No, wait, this isn't quite…"

                "Maybe if you sort of lean over me…"

                "Or if you just put one leg over me, we can-"

                "Oh, god, they touched!"  The two men jerked apart, each with a hand clamped over his "special part" as though contaminated.

                "That didn't mean anything…right?  I mean, it's not like we meant to…"

                "No, no, of course not…it didn't mean anything at all.  We were just having a very manly penis-measuring contest, nothing wrong with that.  I'm sure people do it all the time.

                "Right."

                "Right."

                They both sat in silence, hands wrapped protectively around themselves.

                "Oh, fuck it!"  Wesley declared, and threw himself into Gunn's arms.

                "So, does this mean that we can fight crime side by side?"  Julia was asking, fluttering her big brown eyes.  Angel was walking her back to her home, keeping a careful eye on the lightening eastern sky.

                "That's, uh….well.  It's maybe a more difficult job than you realize," Angel hedged.  "I've kind of got a little team put together, but, uh….I'm sure I could take some time to work on training you.  With a few good moves, you could be a great Slayer."  Angel was being very, very optimistic.  

                "Wow….really?"  Julia cooed, wrapping herself around his arm like sticky tar.  Angel tried to look more comfortable than he actually felt.

                "Sure.  We'll have to give you some kind of self-defense.  I've got a friend who can demon-proof your house, for starters."

                "This is soooo cool!" Julia squealed.  "Can I hang out with you guys some times?  Do I get my own stake?"

                "Only if you….want."  Angel was trying hard not to promise anything.  It wasn't just that Julia was annoying (but she was).  With his current connections to Wolfram and Hart, Angel didn't want to drag a new Slayer into his world.  Lord only knew what the company would try to do to her.

                "You don't……you don't seem to want me around you," Julia said, her shaky voice threatening tears.  Wow, even faster than Harmony, when he'd told her that he didn't care for her pink, perfumed office memos.

                "No, no, it's not that.  It's just that…the world of demon hunting is very dangerous," Angel soothed, feeling awkward.  "I don't want you to go out and get hurt."

                "Oh.  Oh!"  Julia lifted her face up towards him, eyes alight with romance.  "That's so beautiful.  You want me to stay pure and untouched, right?  While you go out and stain your soul in the fight for against evil, you want to be able to fight on, knowing that somewhere there's a little piece of purity.  Like a rose under glass."

                "Um….yes!  That's exactly it!"  Angel was grateful to her for making up his excuses for him.  

                "That's so beautiful," Julia leaned into him.

                "Are we almost to your house?"

                "Yeah, yeah, just down the road," she said, straightening.  "Anyway, I'm glad to hear that.  I thought that you just didn't want me around because I'd interfere in your relationship with Wesley."  

                "Wesley?"

                "Yeah.  You two are, like, totally in love, right?  Right?"  Oh, that was it.  Wolfram and Hart was going to take those damn sites off the Internet if they had to sue half the city.

                "No," Angel said, taking Julia firmly by the shoulders, and pulling her around to face him.  "No, we're not.  And I've read the stores that people write in which we are.  And it really, really disturbs me."  Julia looked shocked and hurt.

                "It does?  Really?"

                "Yeah.  It really does."  He let go of her, and continued walking towards her house.

                "Ohmigod, I never knew."

                "Well, learn something new every day."

                And suddenly, it was Julia taking him by the shoulders as she jumped in front of him, pixie-face set in a serious frown.

                "Angel.  Don't you worry about a thing.  I'm going to set things right.  I'll set up a site that tells people the truth."

                "You…you will?"

                "Hell, yeah!  You're talking to LotusStar, web-mistresss extraordinaire!  I'll make sure that everyone on the Internet knows how things really are."

                "Okay.  Well, thanks."  Maybe this problem would be easier to solve than he'd ever thought.  He walked Julia up to her house and watched her walk inside safely, declining her invitation ("But I thought you _had to come inside if you were invited.  C'mon, at least come check my closet for demons!").  He promised that he would send Wesley over later to cast some protection spells over her, but the night was almost over, and she should be safe when the day broke.  Then he headed back towards the Wolfram and Hart building, walking quickly against the swiftly rising sun._

In Gunn's office, there was a blanket thrown over the length of the couch.  Underneath the blanket, a double-shape writhed.  Every now and then, voices could be heard from underneath it.

                "Shouldn't someone be wearing a condom?"

                "Why?  It's not like either of us can get pregnant.  And I know I don't have any diseases.  I'll just have to trust that you don't."

                "Yeah, but I don't want....you know, your…stuff….on my…you know."

                "Wait, wait, who the hell said I was going to be the bitch in this thing?"

                "Well, I wasn't planning on letting you do me.  I don't exactly have high pain threshold."

                "Okay, okay.  Let's just take turns."

                Then, a few minutes later.

                "Ow!  You can't possibly be doing that right!"

                "Well, I didn't know that there was any kind of exact science to it.  You just jam it in there and go."

                "Maybe you could jam – ow! – a little less roughly?"

                "I'm trying…I'm going to have to build up some kind of within rhythm eventually."

                "I think we were supposed to use some kind of lubrication."

                "I think it's a little late, now.  I wish we could move a little faster.  This is driving me crazy.  You…actually feel…surprisingly good."

                "Well, I'm glad you're having a good time, because I – ow! – am getting tired of –ow!- being on the receiving end."

                "You want to switch?"  

                "It would – ow! – be nice, because I'm starting to – ow! – lose my happy feelings down – ah!…..ooo."

                "What?  You want to switch, Wes?"

                "No.  No.  We can go on like this.  And go a little faster, would you?"

                A few hours later, the sun was rising, and Wesley and Gunn were sitting stiffly on opposite ends of the couch.  Some god was smiling on them, because they'd had "uncoupled" and re-dressed before Angel came knocking on Wesley's door.  He explained his encounter with the Slayer, Wesley explained that he had been wanting to speak to Angel about that earlier, before he'd stormed out.  Angel apologized for being so tense before, Gunn made an awkward excuse about working on research with Wesley, Angel gave them an odd look and left.

                Now, they were trying not to look at each other.

                "Ow," Wesley muttered, shifting on the couch.  "I thought that we were going to be taking turns."

                "Hey, you were loving it that way last night.  All I was hearing was, 'Oh, don't stop.  Harder.  Faster.'"

                "God, why did I ever say that?" Wesley moaned.

                "Why did we ever do that?"

                "Well…alcohol.  I guess.  But it was all so sudden.  How the hell did let our selves get carried around like that?"

                "How about we don't talk about it?  How about we forget that it ever happened, huh?  Right now, nobody knows, so lets just keep it that –"

                The door swung open, and Lorne poked his Halloween-mask face in.

                "Hey, kittens.  Angel told me that he ran into a Slayer last night.  Did you guys have any luck?"

                "No!"  Gunn and Wesley chorused simultaneously.

                "But you know, we were out all night," Gunn began.

                "Yes, grueling patrol –" Wesley put in.

                "And we're tired.  Very, very tired."

                "So maybe, if we could talk about this later –"

                "Oh my god," Lorne said, stepping all the way into the office.  "You guys…you guys did it last night, didn't you?"

                "No!"  exclaimed Gunn,.

                "How did you know?"  asked Wesley at the same time.  Gunn glared at him. 

                "Please, it's written all over you.  Aura, body language, faces – you don't even have to sing for me to see it.  Besides, you left a condom on the floor.  Very sloppy, boys."  Gunn blinked, noticing the spent condom down at his feet.  He kicked it under the couch.

                "Yes, well, we're still trying to figure out why we did it," he said.  "I'm thinking, lots of alcohol."

"You don't have anything to do with – I mean, you have been sleeping, right?"  Wesley asked.  Lorne rolled his eyes.

                "Yes.  I've been sleeping.  I've made a real habit of it, in fact.  Just because people are behaving strangely, it doesn't mean that my powers are on the fritz."  
                "Yes," Wesley went on, rubbing at the stubble on his chin, "But you weren't aware that you were doing anything last time, either…"

                "Wesley!  Dance for me, right now!" Lorne ordered, pointing at him dramatically.  "Dance, I command you with my awesome, super-suggestive empathic powers!"  He went on more quietly as Wesley stood unmoving.  "C'mon, do a little dance…..make a little love?  Get down tonight?"

                "Okay, you've made your point," Wesley sighed.  "Look, do us a favor, and don't tell anyone about this.  We're a little…embarrassed."

                "Understatement," Gunn said.

                "Aww, secret lovers.  That's so cute," Lorne clasped his hands.  "Well, don't worry, I won't spill your beans."

                "No, no, no!  No secret lovers," Gunn waved his hands in front of him in a "cut" motion.  "Don't get the wrong idea, here, Lorne.  It happened once.  It's not going to happen again."

                "No, indeed," Wesley agreed.  Lorne grinned at them both.

                "Yeah, sure it won't happen again.  Good luck, boys."  And he swept out of the office.  

                "It never happened," said Gunn firmly.  

                "And it will never happen again," Wesley agreed, scooting a little closer to him.

                "Except, of course….if you wanted to try it one more time, for the road."

                "Right, one more time, just to be sure how much we hate it."

                "Exactly.  And because you never got your turn on top."

                "Right, right, have to be fair, you know."

                Gun grabbed Wesley and pushed him down along the length of the couch, pulling the blanket over both of them.   

                One week later, Angel was clicking through the Internet.  He'd never had the time for it before, but now the company was offering instant access, and there was this great video of stick figures beating each other up that he liked to watch.  As he browsed, he remembered the net-name of that Slayer, and typed it into Google, just on a whim.  He wondered whether she'd actually put up a web-site with the "truth" about Angel – and there it was.  "Moonlight Petals – LotusStar tells the TRUE story of Angel's tragic love."  

                Angel let the arrow hover of the link, wondering if he dared.  But then, it was a slow day.  He dared.

                The story section of the site was particularly amusing.  At least he wasn't screwing men, but he was committing statutory rape.

_                "Oh, Julia," breathed Angel in his true love's delicate ear.  "It's so hard to hold myself back with I'm around you.  But I mustn't do anything that would compromise your purity."_

_                Julia could feel the strength of his arousal pressed against her, understood the instincts that he must be struggling with.  _

_                "Oh, Angel.  It's okay.  I'd give myself to you, totally and completely.  Let me be your Lotus, and you can strip me of petals, one by one."_

_                "Julia," Angel sighed, cupping her soft cheek gently in one hand – such a gentle touch for hands that could crush steel – "You have a beautiful soul."_

                It went on from there, with a little less poetry, and a little more smut.  Angel wasn't certain whether to be amused, offended, or outraged.  He tried another Google search, using the terms "Angel Wesly slash."  Then, "Angel Gunn slash," "Angel Spike slash," and even, "Angel Lorne slash."  He gaped at the numbers that each search pulled up.  To hell with it.  They really were fighting a losing battle.  And Wolfram and Hart probably had better people to sue.  He made his decision. 

                "Hey, Lorne?"  Angel poked his head into the office, and knocked on the inside of the door.  The green demon looked up from a copy of "People," magazine, which he had been going through with a pen and hi-liter.  Even from across the room, Angel could vaguely read the labels below celebrity photographs: "Evil."  "Not evil."  "A little evil."  "Not evil, just tacky."  

                "What's up, Big Man?"

                "Remember that…'slash' thing that we've been discussing?"

                "Kind of hard to forget.  You aren't going to ask me for actual lawsuits now, are you?  Because that's sliding into Gunn's department anyway."

                "No, no," Angel held up his hands.  "I was actually going to say – never mind.  I'm calling off the whole campaign.  Let them write what they want.  I just won't read it."

                "Well, I'd call that a mature conclusion," Lorne folded his hands.  "What prompted this?"

                "I just realized…we're kind of fighting a losing battle.  And you've probably got enough to deal with as it is."  

                "Well, I do have two singers throwing counter-curses at each other right now.  We're going to have to put out that little fire unless we want someone's flesh to rot off at the Grammys."

                "You know, I'm still really glad that your job isn't my job."  Angel headed back to his office, looked at the story sitting on his monitor – "Forever Yours," by LotusStar.

                "The hell with it," he said aloud, and clicked it off.  There were better things on-line to waste his time on.  Like Ebay.     


End file.
